


I'm off the deep end (watch as I dive in)

by Spoopyroll



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Bahrain Grand Prix 2019, M/M, The feels, i havent written in a while please be nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 04:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18328229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoopyroll/pseuds/Spoopyroll
Summary: Charles isn't taking his result in Bahrain very good. Pierre tries to help him with that.





	I'm off the deep end (watch as I dive in)

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't written a fic in a while but after the Bahrain GP I couldn't stop myself. so here you go, please enjoy!

Charles was pretty much on autopilot from the paddock to his hotel room, his heavy feet trying to keep his weight up. He was walking alone. People had offered to walk with him, but he didn’t want them to. He hadn’t been able to stay alone for more than a minute or two after the race, with people wanting interviews and press conferences and all of that. But now, he was finally alone. Yet somehow it was so unbelievably hard to be alone as well. He wanted to vent at someone, to have someone to tell him it was okay, everything was okay. He wanted Ju-  
‘no! no! don’t think of him now,’ Charles thought to himself. ‘you seem pathetic enough as it is’.  
He had been so close. So, god damn close to a win. A fucking win in formula 1, the pinnacle of motorsport, with Ferrari, one of the most historical F1 teams in existence. He had had a dream weekend up until that moment. He’d been in the top 2 in every practice session, took his first pole position, and lead three fourths of the race, all for it to slip away with 10 laps to go.  
He wanted to kick something, he was so angry with himself. He knew deep down that it wasn’t his fault that the win slipped away, but with all the emotions floating around, he couldn’t help but feel as though he’d done something wrong, that he failed.  
He couldn’t believe he lost it so easily. If he was to lose that race, he wanted to fight for the position, but that wasn’t how it went down sadly. Hamilton breezed past him on the straight as if he was a Williams. a Williams. Charles sighed to himself.  
After a while, he’d finally arrived at his room. It was late, but not too late. He had scheduled a late flight the next day so he could stay up for a bit, if he wanted to, but that was the thing. He didn’t know what he wanted. He didn’t know if he wanted to sleep or stay awake. All he really wanted was to cry, but he had denied himself that all day. He’d got his first podium, he shouldn’t be allowed to cry, he told himself.  
Yet Charles breath hitched as he took of his Ferrari red bag off of his shoulders. He was exhausted. He settled for a quick shower, before changing into some comfy clothes before finally splaying himself over the bed.  
He didn’t want to think about the race right now, he’d thought too much about it already, but he couldn’t shut his thoughts off. It was as if all the adrenaline he had earlier that day had suddenly come back and stayed in his mind, making it go 100 kilometers per hour. He couldn’t stop thinking and it was starting to become scarier and scarier with each minute that went.  
He suddenly sat himself up on the bed, looking through the window right besides his bed from the hotel room trying to rid himself from his thoughts by observing. It was dark outside, but the lights from the city lit everything up and made it feel as if it wasn’t late at all. He bet most of the other drivers were probably out drinking, or at some party with celebrities who he was sure 95% of the time didn’t really care about the sport but was only there for the publicity.  
Charles sighed heavily. He was starting to become thirsty. The heat in Bahrain was sometimes overwhelming and he somehow forgets to drink a lot of the time. He went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. When he was looking for the glasses, he saw that all of them had been used, and not been washed afterwards, so he decided to be lazy and grab a mug instead. As he was reaching for a mug in the top shelf, he accidentally pulled an extra mug out from the shelf with the first one, and with him being so tired, his reactions was slower than usual, so the mug first hit him in the head and then fell to the floor and broke.  
“shit!” Charles accidentally swore. “shit… damnit.” Shards from the mug were everywhere. One of the shards had somehow bounced off the floor and hit his leg, as he could see a small stream of blood running down his leg and onto the floor. “nonono! Shit! Damnit!” he usually didn’t get all panicky about anything, but this was just wrong timing, and his concentration had taken a toll in the race, and he was just too tired to keep it under control.  
Something was suddenly in his eyes that made his sight blurry. Something wet? Oh no! ‘No, no, no, not now.’ He thought to himself. He’d avoided crying all day, and now he suddenly broke? All because of some stupid stupid mug and a stupid stupid cut that wasn’t even that big. After being in exhausting himself and dealing with the loss of the first place, to then lose control over a small cut. He was dry heaving now. It was just all too much. Too much stress, too many emotions, too many expectations. Not from the others but himself.  
God, what would his father have said if he saw him now. What would Jules have said if he saw him now! God damnit! He should’ve won today! He should’ve won for them. For Jules, for his father, and for Charlie. He had gone from heaving to sobbing now, all because of this cut. “FUCK!”  
He moved his body over to the bed again, avoiding the shards, but forgetting about the blood on his leg, and the water. He just wanted some peace. He wished this race didn’t happen as it did, but he couldn’t change the past. He would’ve done so much more than just fix this race I he could.  
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Charles lazily dragged himself over the floor, yet again, and opened the door. If it was some photographer or a journalist who actually found his room and saw him in this state, he would be fucked, but it wasn’t any of them.  
“hello Cha-oh my god what has happened to you?!” Pierre gasped when he saw the state his Monegasque friend was in. Charles’ eyes were red rimmed, and the blood on his leg was still dripping slightly, barley visible. Charles looked straight down horrible. “I...I’m-“ was all Charles got to respond before the Frenchman embraced him with a hug. Then suddenly everything came crashing down for Charles yet again.  
Pierre guided Charles’s head down to the crook of his neck where Charles now started to cry, or rather sob. Pierre let him stay there in the door-opening, with his head on his shoulder, supporting his Monegasque friend the best he could. After a few minutes, Charles moved his head up and away from Pierre’s neck. “I-I’m-“ Charles started again, but Pierre was faster.  
“I swear if you’re trying to say you’re sorry right now, I have some news for you.” Pierre said as he cupped Charles’s cheeks so he couldn’t look away while he was talking. “it was not your fault today, okay? It was a mechanical issue that cost you the win, not you, because you.” Pierre booped his nose with his finger. “you’ve driven brilliantly all weekend and you should be proud of your result.”  
Charles wanted to fight back. ‘Pierre was wrong, It was his fault’ his mind told him. He could’ve done something better, he knows it. And what about his god father. He must’ve been so disappointed in him. “Ju-Ju-Jules...” he started yet again and is yet again shut up. “Jules would’ve been happy no matter where you placed today. He and your father would’ve been so proud of you...”  
Charles was speechless. All he could do was stare at his French friend with awe. This was all he needed right now, all that he craved. For someone to tell him that it’s okay. Everything’s okay.  
He is okay.


End file.
